


Tell Me to Go

by lilbuns



Category: Dream Team - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Breakup, M/M, Past Relationship(s), dream centric, dream took an L lowkey, dreamnotfound, george also took an L, george so good dream ended up in therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-19 06:53:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29870829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilbuns/pseuds/lilbuns
Summary: “So this fight was different?”“It was the last one.”
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 122
Collections: MCYT





	Tell Me to Go

“We used to be so in love,” Dream whispers. “He was my best friend.” Dream runs a hand through his hair, feels the smoothness slide past his fingertips, and remembers the way George’s slender fingers have glided against the same hair. His skin. His soul. “He was my other half.”

When Dream met George on a Minecraft server, both voices squeaky from puberty and shy checking of the discord online notifications, he wasn’t aware of the impact that small, spiteful boy would have on the Floridian.

The lady with silver, blonde hair crosses her legs in front of Dream. She softly taps a pencil on her notepad. “Are you ready to talk about it?”

Look at me now, George, Dream thinks to himself. He almost wants to laugh. “Um, it started when someone at school called him gay.”

At sixteen years old, George’s voice was muffled through the Discord voice call across the ocean. “Someone at school called me gay today.”

Dream’s eyebrows furrowed on the other end. He looked up from working on his homework, nearly 2,000 miles away from the other boy, and asked, “Well, are you?”

George gasped. His microphone shuffled around before he yelped, “Wh- no, Dream! God! That’s gross!” Although his face wasn’t visible, the thirteen year old boy in Florida could practically see the flush on his cheeks. “I’m not gay,” he repeated.

“I never said you were.”

Dream situates himself in the chair, uncomfortable under the older woman’s gaze. She sadly smiles, and despite knowing the answer before Dream even does, she asks, “Were you happy or sad with that answer?”

Dream thinks.

“There’s nothing wrong with liking guys, you know,” Dream quipped at thirteen years old. “My mom always tells me love is love.”

George, Dream’s very best friend, mumbled as if he was ashamed, “I’m not.”

“Okay,” Dream whispered, setting down his pencil on his science homework in defeat. “Well, my dinner is ready. I’ll text you later?”

He hung up the call and leaned back in his chair. He already ate dinner, and he didn’t know why he felt the need to hang up on George. Why did he feel so let down? So… solemn? He didn’t like boys either.

“Yes,” Dream whispers, rubbing the heels of his hand into his eyes to try and erase the memory of defeat- the memory of indirect rejection. “Yes. Yes, I loved George at thirteen. I know it.”

“When did this friendship become romantic, Dream, do you want to tell me?” She encouraged him warmly.

Dream nods and swallows a lump down his throat. Butterflies rise in his stomach, and he tries to ignore the feeling of George’s touch on his skin in his mind.

George was twenty-one. It had been a five years since George was called gay, and they hadn’t talked about it. Dream was eighteen. He was obsessed with the way George said his name, and he didn’t remember when Dream went from wondering what it would be like to play Minecraft with George in the same house, to wondering what it would feel like to have George’s hands on his skin.

Dream tells the lady scribbling notes in front of him, “I am in- I was in love with him. He helped me with my homework, listened to my school problems, and he was always there for me.”

She looks up and bites her lip in thought. “Did he love you?” Silence. Dream has his eyes on the clean carpet. She repeats, softer: “Did he love you, Dream?”

“Yes.”

“I have to tell you something,” George spoke excitedly one night like he was talking to a child. It was dark outside. The stars held onto quiet whispers and unspoken secrets hanging on the tips of young boys’ tongues. The two boys should’ve been asleep, but they found it difficult to sleep when the other was just on the other end of the line.

It had been even more difficult to hide the voices dripping with fondness. Melodies of flirts that were classified as teasing slipped between them like silk, and Dream was going crazy by believing he was tied to someone that wasn’t even his to begin with.

“What?” Dream whispered from his bed. His phone was pressed into his cheek, squeezing his eyes and imagining George on the other side of his twin bed, bodies pushed together.

“Well, remember when I said I wanted to go to Norway over the summer?”

“Yes?”

“I changed my mind. What are you doing for the month of July?”

July. July. July with George.

The therapist smiles sadly. She scribbles something and asks, “Did he stay with you?”

Dream nods, and he whispers with fondness, even after all this time, “He moved in with me.”

“Remember,” George nearly lectured despite Dream jumping around his apartment to tour the older boy. “This is only for a month. We have to soak up our time together before I go home.”

Dream nodded excitedly. “It’s going to be so fun, dude.”

Dream looks down at his lap. His fingers are tangled together in nerves as he remembers when it shifted. He speaks, almost embarrassingly, “This is so awkward.”

“Share whatever you’re comfortable with,” she reassures him.

He leans back into his chair and thinks.

He was pressed against the couch. George had his feet on Dream’s lap, idly swinging his hand off the back of the couch when it hit Dream’s right arm stretched over the back. Dream sucked in a breath, partly because of the electricity of the boy he had loved for more than five years, and partly because he was so touch starved of another.

The blonde peered over to George with his bottom lip sucked under his teeth. “Hey,” he whispered.

George was already looking at him. “Hi.”

Silently, shyly, Dream stretched his hand out towards the other. George slowly looped their pinkies together and rested their hands on the back of the couch. His skin was soft. Dream intertwined their ring fingers, and George silently hooked their middle fingers, before Dream finally twisted his hand and interlocked their hands fully.

Dream tilts his head and looks at the lady smiling longingly. “I was so scared it was going to be a one time thing,” he says. “But we started doing it all the time.”

They never talked about it.

But if George would pout and hold out his hand when waiting for his coffee maker to heat up in the morning, then so what? Isn’t that what all friends did? When Dream typed on his computer, George would pat his forearm and hold out his hand, and Dream, touch starved and in love, would type on his computer with one hand, the other loosely held onto the other’s.

One day, Dream brushed his chest against George’s back to pass him in the hallway, and George sighed loudly. The older boy’s eyes widened, and Dream bit back a smile.

“What was that?” Dream asked, a tint of teasing in his voice.

Rose burnt into George’s cheeks. “Nothing, nothing.”

“Tell me.”

In a whisper, George mumbled, “Just have only gotten by with hand holding for a while now, that’s all.”

Yeah, that’s all.

Hand holding turned into Dream pulling George to the couch to carefully wrap his arms around the other. His waist was small, and he was fit so perfectly into Dream’s chest, cheek pressed into him.

“Dream,” his therapist says calmly. “Did it ever go farther than hand touches and cuddling?”

Dream chokes on a bit back sob, and he nods. His hands twiddle in his lap.

“Dream, what happened?” She asks. Dream can’t speak. “Dream? Dream?”

“Dream!” George slurred, voice echoing off of the walls of the guest room. Well, now George’s room. Drunken giggles slipped off his lips in romantic tunes and honey golden whispers.

“Remember--” Dream hiccuped, beer bottle dangling in his hand as he sat crisscrossed in the bare bedroom. “Remember when you said you were only going to stay here for a month?”

George softly hit Dream’s hoodie covered arm with his own beer bottle. “Shut up!” His eyes shut in laughter, and Dream leaned back in his own giggles.

“Make me.”

Dream never realized how close George had gotten during their laughter until he could feel George’s knee pressing into the side of his thigh. George reached out to push Dream again, but Dream got his hand in his own and kissed the palm silently.

It was quiet, and George watched with hooded eyes as Dream kissed his palm again, his wrist, forearm… He pulled away to look away and lick his lips.

“Why did you stop?” George breathed.

Dream mumbled, “I thought you wanted me to,” and George shook his head lazily.

The air had grown thick with tension. The shine of alcohol coated George’s lips, and Dream was painfully aware of the buzz rumbling in his head. He scooted himself closer and leaned down, kissing George’s shoulder, moving his head to his collarbone. His hand cupped George’s jaw in place. George let out a heavy breath, slender fingers finding themselves tangled in Dream’s blonde hair.

Dream moved up his jaw to his cheekbones, his nose, and finally pulled away to see the lust circling George’s honey eyes. “Just do it, Dream,” George slurred before using his grip on the back of Dream’s neck to push his head in, connecting their lips in a frenzy.

An explosion of color popped in Dream’s head, showing reds and oranges, greens and pinks, and blues beautiful as ever. Their hands were on each other excitedly, trying to make up for all the time they had missed.

Dream pushed George to the ground, using his elbows to hold himself up over the brunette as he felt George’s hands roam his body. Quiet hiccups and breaths escaped them, causing short giggles against each other’s lips.

Dream shudders, and his therapist cocks her head. “Are you okay, Dream?” When he shrugs and nods, she asks, “Do you want to continue?”

“He still said he was straight.”

George had his legs hooked around Dream’s waist, sitting on the kitchen counter with Dream standing between his legs. “What if we just said fuck it?” Dream whispered, kissing down George’s neck. “We could go out in public and I could show everyone you’re mine.”

George sucked in a breath. “I’m straight, Dream.”

And it was always left at that.

“I’m tired, George,” Dream spoke one night as they decided to share a bed. He was facing the ceiling, and George watched him carefully on his side. The strings of the blonde’s hoodie were being twirled by George as he listened. “We make out everyday. You can’t keep calling yourself straight.”

“I’m not gay.”

“Dude,” Dream groaned, pushing the heels of his hand into his eyes. “You can’t be doing this with me and still calling yourself straight.”

George turned away from Dream completely, and the blonde stared at his back. “I don’t want to talk about it. I really don’t.”

The therapist nods understandingly. “How did this make you feel?”

Dream shrugs, beginning to feel reluctant with the fresh wounds George cut into him. He’s hurting, he lost a best friend and a lover in one. “I think I was just frustrated I was being hidden. I couldn’t take it longer.”

“Hey, love, what do you want for dinner?” Dream asked carefully one night. George had his feet tucked under his (secret) boyfriend’s legs to warm himself, body pushed into the couch.

George looked up from mindlessly scrolling on his phone, eyes squinted in thought. They looked slightly dull; slightly bored. Dream shuddered. Dream’s hand was absently rubbing shapes into George’s kneecap. George shrugged. “Nick wanted to get dinner with us one of these nights?”

That perked Dream’s ears. “That’d be cool. Are we finally going to tell him?”

George scoffed and pulled his feet from Dream’s warmth, and the other reached out to hook a hand around his ankle. He was afraid to let go. “Are you crazy?”

Dream’s eyebrows furrowed. “It’s been months now.” There was a thick silence where Dream stared absentmindedly at the wall, and George pretended to look at something on his phone. “Remember when you told me you would be ready soon?”

“I was drunk.”

“You said you loved me.”

“I also said I wasn’t ready to come out.”

Dream smiled fondly- he smiled sadly. “But it’s with me, George. I’m coming out, too.”

George rolled his eyes.

Why, after all the fights they brewed over this, after all the petty looks and bitter comments, and nights spent in their own bedrooms again, why was it a conversation that sent Dream over the edge?

“You are so fucking toxic, George,” Dream whispered. He was afraid to say the words. They scattered like glass on the foundation the two boys had built for themselves.

George looked at Dream with ice in his eyes. He cocked his head to the side with angered frustration. “Excuse me?”

Dream stood up and looked down at his boyfriend. He looked a lot smaller when he was huddled into their shared couch, a hoodie draped over his skin. Dream knew George’s skin was soft underneath the hoodie, but he also knew George’s soul was rough underneath the skin. “It’s always something with you, George,” he breathed out. “I’m doing the best I can. You’re not telling me what I can do to make you ready.”

George stood up as well now. Although he was much smaller than Dream, the look in his ice was enough to cause a glacier. They were the eyes of a stranger. “And I’m not doing my best?” He drove Dream crazy for thinking he was wrong. “You’re the one acting toxic right now like some- some douche,” he stuttered.

“A douche?” Dream laughed spitefully. “Me? I’m the douche? George, you yell over spilled milk.” He put space in between him and his boyfriend, stepping towards the dining room area. “I just want to love you in public.”

“Oh, whatever,” George dismisses. “I feel so pressured by you, Dream,” he spit the words into Dream’s back. Dream whipped around to see his eyes sad, and he wanted to reach out. He didn’t.

Dream’s therapist hums softly and scribbles something down. “So this fight was different?”

Dream nods. “It was the last one.”

There was a vase shattered on the floor. Dream couldn’t tell if him or George were yelling louder, when finally, Dream struggled out, “You know what? If you don’t want to go public with me, you can just go.”

George, alone in Florida without Dream, stuttered to a stop. The silence was thick. Dream breathed heavily, words all over the floor for the boys to slip on. “You want me to go?” George whispered. A tear slipped and slid slowly down his cheek. Dream squeezed his eyes shut in defeat, trying to picture a fantasy where they would have forgotten about the words spilled out.

Dream shrugged. He kept his head down, ashamed.

“No,” George’s voice wavered. He slowly walked close to Dream. “Look me in the eyes right now and tell me to go,” he sucked the air between his teeth. Dream’s eyes shimmered tears in the moonlight, and George grabbed softly at his chin to make eye contact with him. “If you really want me to leave right now, say the word and I’ll go.”

Dream squeezed his eyes shut again. “Go,” his voice quivered.

George softly let go of his chin, feeling his exhausted breath hit him.“You’re going to let me  
go?”

Dream kept his eyes pressed closed.

Dream opens his eyes. The older lady is nodding along. “And then what?”

“And then he left.”

“You told him to go, Dream,” she reminds softly.

He nods. “Yeah,” he whispers. He feels George’s delicate touch on his skin and shivers. “Yeah, I guess I did.”


End file.
